


Between a Rock and a Hard Place

by orphan_account



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More speculation concerning the missing scene after they kissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The kiss turned into something frantic and not to be left out, Claire slid her arms around Edward’s waist, her right hand on his ribs, just above the agent’s holster and the left skating against the bulge in his trousers.

  
She mapped him, pleased with what she finds and when Francis responded to Edward’s moan by pulling the three of them closer together, the back of her hand brushed against the more familiar feeling of her husband’s arousal.

“My, my,” purred the Vice President after breaking for air.

“Jesus, Sir…I’m sorry,” moaned Edward, staring at the bright red stain on Underwood’s crisp white shirt just above the man’s heart, where he had pressed his still bleeding palm.

“Need to put that in cold water,” suggested Claire, her voice only slightly unsteady – more from the moment than the wine and bourbon. “Let me take it,” she continued, distracted by the stain’s resemblance to a flower, a rose perhaps. She didn’t want to imagine Francis…bleeding. “I am going to jump in the shower. You two… talk.” And with that, looking back only once at the two of them, she hurried upstairs, shirt in hand.

“Talk, Sir?” asked Edward, a slight catch in his voice.

“Sit down,” replied Francis, putting glasses in the sink and the bourbon back on the sideboard before gathering the sterile gauze and tape. “Let me take care of that.”

Francis Underwood’s hands were broad, with thick fingers slightly calloused at the knuckle, but that didn’t translate into the least bit of roughness as he carefully anointed Edward’s cut with antibiotic cream.

“We have condoms,” he said, breaking the silence between them. “If you need them. Claire and I are ‘clean’; she wants me to ask if you are, as well.” Francis centered the gauze pad over the cut before lifting his eyes to wait for an answer.  
“No, um, diseases," stammered Edward with a nervous chuckle. "Just went through a battery of tests before starting my training. They took about a gallon of blood and I checked out just fine.” Edward swallowed hard, watching Francis place first aid tape around the edges of the protective square, carefully pressing along each strip against his clean skin.

“Besides, it’s been so long…”

“How long,” asked Francis. He was finally satisfied with the dressing and, reminded of the time Peter’s brat had spilled burning coffee on his hand, he wrapped the whole thing up with a tidy Ace bandange.

Edward winced. “Five years.”

“Five years?”

“Not since I was in Iraq. I didn’t plan it that way. It just happened.”

“And in Iraq?”

Edward blinked rapidly and when that didn’t work he brushed his uninjured hand over his eyes.

“His name was Sam.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Sam?” asked Francis, moving closer until Edward leaned against his warmth.

“Sam. Just ask about him another day…please. Not now. Too sad,” the former Marine whispered. “And I thought you’d want to know I’ve been with women, too.”

“Yes,” replied Francis, standing up and tugging Edward’s uninjured hand. “Claire will out of the shower in just a minute. She’s fast…saving water and all,” Francis chuckled. “Shall we go upstairs?”

*

Careful with his heavy belt and holster, Edward stripped down to his boxer briefs, which were stretched and damp with arousal. Francis sat on the edge of the bed, watching with almost feral interest, well pleased with what he saw.

“Your shorts?” he asked, pulling Edward closer by hooking two fingers into the elastic of the waistband.

“Give me a minute,” asked Edward shyly. Francis shrugged and pulled off his tight white t-shirt.

Now it was Edward’s turn to stare, entranced by the surprisingly muscled chest and shoulders hidden by the politician’s suits. Not to mention the thicket of silky hairs, grey and brown, that covered those strong pectorals.

“Sir!” Edward groaned, a tentative hand reaching to stroke there. Francis smiled, a smile that made the ones he typically shared with the _hoi polloi_ of daily life seem shallow, false. This smile broke across the older man’s face, transforming it into something quite beautiful.

Francis was bare in just a few seconds more and he reclined across the bed, pulling Edward with him.

“I’ve never done this before,” confessed the younger man as Francis licked his neck, biting down near the shoulder where the marks would be covered by dress shirt and jacket. “Not with two. In fact, there’s a lot I haven’t…”

Francis broke the suction against Edward’s skin with a loud, wet pop. “We’ll take it slow, darlin’,” he drawled affectionately. “Are you worried about coming fast?” he continued, brushing his hand against the soft cotton covering Edward’s erection.

Edward nodded.

“Then Claire and I will take care of you first. Once you’ve knocked one out of the park, you’ll be fine,” assured the seasoned Democrat, tracing the warm stain across the front of the underwear.

“Did someone say my name?” laughed Claire, now at the side of the bed. Her short, silky hair was tussled and still a bit damp and her bathrobe was pulled tight and tied at the waist.

“I was telling Edward that we’ll see to him first,” responded Francis. Claire nodded, reaching to caress the silk of the Secret Service Agent’s slender waist.

Trembling visibly, Edward spoke up. “Before I take off my shorts, I just want to warn you that I’ve got some scars on my thigh near my groin. You might...” he gulped, nervously. “You might find them too, uh, too ugly for you to want me…”

Claire tilted his chin, kissing his lips for the first time, the tenderness of it deepening into something wild and possessive.

“There is nothing ugly about you, Edward,” said Francis, his voice ringing with the tone of sincerity that swayed President and lunatic, both. This time he meant it.

Edward slid the garment off. A thick, raised band of red crossed the top of his thigh, diving into the seam between his leg and crotch; a spattering of smaller scars surrounded it, almost a spider’s web of damaged skin and flesh.

Neither Underwood had to ask what had happened; both had visited the wounded servicemen and women and recognized the tattoo of shrapnel.

Francis kissed it, then Claire raised up next to Edward, placing the ends of her robe’s belt into his warm, broad hands. He tugged and the knot came undone and his eyes widened at slender, golden glory of her body revealed by the falling robe. A happy gasp sounded behind his head as Francis paid compliment to his wife’s beauty. Leaning over Edward, Francis kissed her, lingering there before both Underwoods turned their affectionate attentions towards their young lover.


	3. Chapter 3

They fought over Edward’s cock, each vying to caress it, fighting playfully over the slick, fat tip as the agent groaned and wiggled beneath them.

Claire ceceded, allowing Francis to claim the toothsome delight; Edward was long and thick and beautiful. She smiled indulgently at her husband. His attraction for men was something he'd shared on their first date.  In bed she had shyly admitted that she had fantasized about such things herself – two men with her in bed, no restrictions concerning who caressed whom. Francis fascinated her from the first and she’d never grown bored.

Her hand stroked Edward’s cheek, drawing attention away from the man at his cock. She kissed him and then they maneuvered together so that he could suck upon the nipple nearest his mouth. He whimpered, mouthing gently but with greediness, sending the sensation of neediness straight to her sex.

Francis began bobbing his head, jerking the shaft with his spit-slick hand. She sat up, kneeling beside Edward, legs apart and guided his fingers to her aching, wet vulva. Edward came. Francis swallowed, barely gasping at the hot load hitting the back of his throat. Lazily, husband and wife stretched out along the newcomer’s sides.

“Thank you, Sir, M’am,” he managed to croak as they continued to kiss and pet him.


	4. Chapter 4

It was Francis who spread Claire’s legs, gliding between them and spreading her lips while giving Edward a practical demonstration on cunnilingus; in particular, as performed on his beloved wife.

“Kiss and lick everywhere, first; there’s no need to go diving straight in.. It’s counter-productive,” he explained before brushing his face against Claire’s sparse blonde curls and puffy, dark-pink lips, covering every inch but the woman’s stiffening clitoris. 

“Don’t go fingering, first off, either,” continued Francis, basking in Edward’s frank admiration. It wasn’t often that a person listened so intently, he noticed with pleasure. “That comes later, once you’ve tired yourself and need a break.”

“Yes, Sir,” breathed Edward, moving closer and unselfconsciously licking his lips.

“Gentlemen?” groaned Claire, good-naturedly kicking the pair. “Can we…”

Her words were cut short by her husband’s sudden demonstration of what he had lectured. She moaned and Edward kissed her breasts again, ignoring the pain as her clutching fingers scratched his back. She came and came again and then it was Edward’s turn to try.

He was an apt pupil, they found. Enthusiastic as well, they discovered, enjoying Edward's deep, appreciative moans as he applied his newly acquired skills.

“I need…” she whimpered, moving her long legs from Edward’s shoulders, turning so she faced downward, her ass in the air. Francis guided the younger man in place, pumping Edward’s cock with a hand made slick with lube. “Slow and steady,” urged Francis, sliding the man’s cock into his wife with a satisfied groan. “Don’t be rough.”

“No, Sir!” choked Edward, who pushed in, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside of her.

“Here, Francis,” Claire urged, gesturing to the bed in front of her.

“You sure?” asked her husband. She nodded and he maneuvered so that it was her turn between his thighs. Francis was the only one who hadn’t climaxed and now his vision blurred, hot white, as Claire took his cock in her mouth and Edward began pumping into her. He held back, however, waiting until she and Edward finished, Claire moving her mouth from her husband's cock in exhaustion.

“Francis,” said their shy protector, emboldened by their activities to finally use the Vice President’s name, “You…you haven’t finished!”

Francis smiled that beautiful smile again, content as though he’d come a dozen times. “Come up here, then,” he suggested. Edward did and only had to nuzzle and suck for a minute or two until Francis filled his mouth with a soft whimper and a shudder of his hips.


	5. Chapter 5

The fact that Edward Meechum had so many shifts, by his request as well as the Underwoods, necessitated small change in the structure of the townhouse.

The agents, always busy in their control room in the basement, had taken Francis’s offer of his comfortable leather couch for catching naps during off moments. It was no problem, he’d already moved his gaming console upstairs. But Edward sometimes worked double shifts and by the time he could return to his efficiency apartment to sleep, there was not enough time to recover before heading back on duty.  
The townhouse was built with a tiny bedroom beside the kitchen, with an adjoining bath (even smaller). It was for a housekeeper or cook or maid, a design incorporated in simpler times when these things were normal, not a sign of decadence. When the Underwoods moved in, the room was cleared and the room was used for storage; a wine rack, cleaning supplies, canned goods and toilet paper took residence there. When the builders finished transforming the upstairs bedroom into the new office, Claire had a thought. “Why don’t we move the guest bed into the Pantry (as they called the room). The Secret Service agents can use it.”

Francis nodded, knowing full well she meant it was for Edward.

*  
There was precedence to their close relationship with the handsome, quiet protector. Ronald Reagan kept two (a pair of twins who’d joined the Service together) at his side for over twenty years; on his death bed he called for them instead of his rather belligerent children. Jimmy Carter’s pet Agent was a broad-shouldered African-American man, six foot six and three hundred pounds. Together, they’d spend hours boasting about their triumphs and failures at bass fishing. Richard Nixon, it was whispered, had one red-haired Agent who spent as much time on his knees as at the Presidents side.

And so on, and if Francis and Claire preferred Edward, well, it made things go that much smoother for the others and no one begrudged any special status of favoritism thrown the young man’s way. Besides, who wanted to get on the Vice President’s bad side, so certain cameras and monitors were shut down once the lights went off and the Underwoods (and anyone else they might invite) were in bed for the night.

Edward gave up his apartment. Alll it contained were his suits, a box or two of memorabilia from his Marine Corp service and some paperbacks, all of which fit neatly into the refurbished Pantry.

“Oh for the love of God,” barked Francis, suit rumpled after a miserablyear long day of sucking up to the President; he’s jus remembering that Claire was out of town again and there’s nothing for dinner. Pulling a box of cereal from the cupboard, Francis checked the fridge and stared at the expired milk. So much for cereal, he thought, angrily throwing the curdled dairy into the garbage can. He takes the cereal box, ready to throw it across the room but he's stopped, a strong hand capturing his wrist. 

“Sir?” asked Edward, coming from his room, still damp from a hot shower. He was wearing nothing but a pair of sweat pants and a worn Transformers t-shirt. Clearly off duty, Francis surmised, his mood beginning to lift.

“Claire’s gone. Let’s order pizza,” said the Vice President with a grin.

They ordered enough for everyone on duty downstairs, Francis and Edward eating with the others in the small room, their elbows jostling as additional slices were grabbed from the pies.

Relaxed, Francis turned to and asked, “Meechum, will you please see me in my office before you turn in?”

“Of course, Sir,” answered Edward, trying not to blush.


	6. Observations

Edward tarried a bit; it wasn’t seemly to rush after the Vice President, particularly when the lines of the younger man’s sweatpants were quite distorted by a lust-filled cock. Things died down, pun intended and he padded, stocking feet, up the stairs to the office.

The door was ajar but after stepping inside, he locked it, walking over to the powerful politician he served so gladly, where Edward dropped gracefully to his knees. Leaning forward, Francis smiled.

“Hello there,” he cooed, lifting Edward’s face so that he could trace the young guard’s lovely cheekbones, his expressive lips and determined chin.

“You don’t have to be down there,” Francis exclaimed with affection. “If all I wanted was a mouth, all I need to do is make a discrete phone call. You know you are more than that…much more.”

Edward rubbed the Vice President’s thighs, lingering as he grew closer to Francis’s hardening cock. “But you don’t mind, do you? Please? I need this.”

Francis shrugged then kissed his new lover. “If you put it that way,” he replied agreeably, undoing his flies. “Just a bit. I don’t want the evening to end too early.”

The sensation of the younger man’s mouth on his cock was almost too much; the fact that some of Edward’s movements with his lips and tongue were halting and shy didn’t lessen the excitement one jot, noted Francis, who regretfully pushed his lover away. “That’s enough.”

His lips were red and swollen from the friction and Edward’s eyes were so…so very hungry. Francis pulled off his white undershirt and tugged on Edward’s tee until it was off, too.

“Lie down on me for a bit,” suggested Francis, sliding back across the length of the couch.

“Am I too heavy?” asked Edward, his weight carried mostly by his bent arms and knees. “No. Give me more.” Edward exhaled and his belly and crotch now pressed down onto Francis.

“That’s better,” whispered the older man, brushing a hand against the silky short hairs decorating Edward’s neck.

“Yes, Sir,” was the reply and the guardian began rocking his hips gently, giving them both the friction they wanted so desperately. They began to kiss and Edward grew delightfully bold, nipping and licking the man beneath him, rubbing his scratchy cheeks against the man’s most sensitive skin. Francis patted his back, breaking their lip lock.

“This is fantastic but there’s something I’d like to talk about before things…progress.” Edward groaned, pushing up against the back of the couch until upright, his heavy cock bouncing in those loose, thin sweats, making Francis growl with desire. “Niiiccce!” drawled the man from Gatney, giving his head a quick shake to clear it. Ducking down his chin bashfully, Edward’s deepening blush was reply enough.

*

“How did you know? About Claire…and about me?”

Edward sighed. “I didn’t. Not for sure, anyway, but enough to risk trying. The bourbon helped.”

“You knew I ‘dated’ Zoe…”

Edward snorted. “ _And_ that Adam wasn’t just Mrs. Underwood’s friend. But about you, Sir. It was when we were down at the Sentinel for the library that I really saw that there was hope.”

Frowning, Francis snuggled against the younger man, leaning his head comfortably in Edward’s damp, bumpy lap. “At the Sentinel?”

“I saw how you looked at your old friend, Tim. And how he looked at you. Oh, don’t worry. I don’t think it was obvious to anyone who wasn’t used to you.”

Francis blinked. “And you’ve gotten used to me. Hell, I’ve spent more time with you this past year than I have with Claire. I guess I just didn’t realize you were so observant.”

Edward’s smile grew enigmatic. “There’s a lot that I’ve noticed, Francis. And what I see worries me.”

“Worries you? Whatever do you mean?”

Eyes closed, Edward paused before answering, urgently. “You need to be more careful, Sir. Just because you got lucky, with Peter and with Zoe… you can’t risk it again!”


	7. Chapter 7

Francis stared at Edward. “I think I need a drink. Care to join me?” he asked, pulling himself away and walking to the fireplace. On the mantle stood a decanter of whiskey and two matching shot glasses, antiques. He returned both, filled to the top. Clinking their glasses together first, they drank.

“I don’t have any proof, Sir. Hell, I was training with Agent Rockland both those days,” volunteered Edward shakily.

Francis didn’t reply.

“Just listen to my story, the one about Sam and my scars. Then, you can decide what you’ll do with me,” continued Edward, pale now beneath his normal tan. Francis, he believed, had killed for less.

“Go on.”

*

“Sam and I were drivers and guards in Iraq- souped up delivery boys. A lot like my job now if you think about it. We were based at Central Command and mostly ferried officers to the smaller camps throughout the valley and deep into the mountains – scary stuff, but he and I were a team. And then we were more than that one day and it was perfect. He got me, Sir. He even laughed at my jokes.”

Francis re-filled their glasses.

“A new officer, a Major Doyle, was transferred to the base. He took a fancy to Sam and began requesting him as his driver. Sam changed after that – got real quiet and sad…jumpy, too. He didn’t want me to touch him. Finally he confessed that Doyle had raped him.”

Francis coughed, sputtering his drink. “Dear God!”

Edward nodded. “It gets worse. Sam’s family is part of a very strict church. They believe that homosexuals go straight to hell. Doyle had somehow figured out what Sam and I had together and threatened to blackmail Sam if he didn’t cooperate. I urged him to talk to our Commander but Sam wouldn’t. So he transferred to another job, working check-points in the nearby village market. There was a kid, a little girl…no one suspected she was carrying explosives. Sam was killed.”

Francis moved closer, his demeanor softening. “Jesus, I’m sorry,” he said, clasping Edward’s hand.

“Doyle came after me next, making me his driver. He told me that if I didn’t cooperate he’d write to Sam’s parents and let them know their son was gay. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“So he raped you, too.” Edward blinked, sending tears rolling down his cheeks. “Yes, Sir.”

The small crystal cup flew from Francis' hand, smashing against the wall, shattering into a thousand pieces.

“God Damn It!” roared the Vice President. “Has everyone I…” He stopped, gasping for a breath. Now, speaking quietly, thoughtfully, he continued. “Has every person I love been raped… _and_ by a Goddamn Marine?”

They held each other. Finally, stirring from Edward’s arms, Francis grew stern, his jaw set and his eyes glittering. “Where is this Doyle now? I’ll destroy him.”

Edward laughed, low and bitter. “Can’t, Sir. He’s dead.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Dead?” gasped Francis.

“Dead. Now this is the part of my story you need to listen to. It will be enough for you to destroy me, if you have a mind to do that. If you think I’m a threat,” whispered Edward, gulping nervously. “I know what it is like to want someone dead. I’d killed people before this, during skirmishes along with my platoon. It seemed so remote, like a video game. At least until we’d move in and mop up. That’s where you could see exactly what your machine gun or grenade launcher had done to their poor bodies. But this was different. I’d drive Doyle and put up with his hands and cock. During, I made plans to kill him. I decided that I’d take him off course, just a bit. He never followed a map or bothered to look out the window and he didn’t notice that we weren’t approaching our rendezvous point. I was going to stop and use the handgun I’d picked off of a dead Al Qaeda. Then I’d shoot myself.”

“Jesus!” moaned Francis.

Edward laughed. “Obviously, there was a change in plans. I pulled into a burnt out village to do it. We hit a booby-trap instead, a roadside bomb. We were thrown from the vehicle. It exploded, hitting us with shrapnel. Doyle a huge chunk of metal right in the chest but he was still alive. I crawled over and pulled it out and blood went everywhere. I didn’t shout…I just stayed soft and calm while I told him that I was going to wait to call for help. That I’d watch him die first. Because of Sam. I leaned over him, putting my hand against his heart through the hole in chest. I wanted to feel him die.”

Edward stopped. With a new look of true understanding, Francis urged him to finish the story, to pull out the festering splinter of the memory.

“I woke up in an airplane, on a cot surrounded by IV stands and doctors and nurses.  I blacked out and when I woke up again I was at the big VA hospital in Bethesda. I was back home. And they thought I was a hero, that I’d risk my life to save Doyle; covering him with my body to guard him from more shrapnel. My hand…they thought I’d tried to stop the bleeding!”

Francis interrupted. “And your wounds?”

Edward laughed again. “I didn’t even realize that I’d been hit. My femoral artery had been nicked and I was bleeding out. A nearby convoy saw the smoke and found us. Doyle dead and me, nearly. They patched up the bleed and filled me full of fresh blood but most of the metal shards were too close to major nerves so they sent me home for a real neurosurgeon to get them out. I’m as good as new except for the scars. I got a couple medals from the whole thing and a medical discharge. Funny thing…I found out later that my radio was broken in the first explosion. Couldn’t have called for help if I tried.”

Francis frowned. “So now, if I feel like you know too much, I can start an investigation…tell them what you’ve told me about the incident.”

Edward smiled. “And I’d confess. Do you remember when I begged you for my job back? I told you the job meant everything to me?”

Francis nodded.

“Well, now it isn’t just the job. _You and Claire_ mean everything to me, Sir. I’d do anything to protect you both. And if another Zoe or Peter comes up I’ll be the one doing the dirty work, not you.” He blushed. “If you’ll let me.”

Lifting Edward’s chin, Francis kissed the younger man. Pulling back with a sigh, he stroked Edward’s cheek with lazy affection. “We’ve reached a mutual understanding. Hopefully, we’ll never speak of this again.”

“Yes, Sir,” agreed Edward, bashfully, hopefully placing a hand on Francis’s thigh.

“Edward?” asked Francis, spreading his knees.

“Yes, Sir?” “The other day, in the kitchen. Before…” Edward nodded, now using his other hand to stroke the older man’s inner thigh. “I didn’t ask you to keep quiet about what the three of us were about to do. I didn’t tell you act, in public at least, as though nothing had happened. Do you want know why?”

“No, Mr. Vice President,” answered Edward, pausing, his grip of Francis’s cock now stilled as he waited for the answer.

“Because I didn’t need to ask you. I knew…Claire and I both know that you are faithful and trustworthy. Edward, you are a treasure!” he answered, his voice cracking with emotion.

“Thank you, Sir,” Edward replied as he return to the job at hand.


	9. Chapter 9

It wasn’t like the way Claire sucked his cock, so smoothly and self-assured and careful to draw things out by slowing and speeding up. And it wasn’t like Zoe – all self-conscious and hesitant and begrudging, her small mouth barely able to take him in half way, her tiny hands attempting to take care of the rest.

No, Edward was…enthusiastic. And rough; rough enough to spark a more primal reaction from the Vice President, sending thunderbolts of pleasure throughout him, not the sparks he normally mustered for such events. And the normally quiet man now moaned with obvious pleasure as he swallowed Francis down to the hairs, humming deep and low which reverberated against Francis’s delicate skin.

And if _that_ wasn’t enough, Edward took Francis’s hands and placed them against his head, encouragingly. Francis obliged and his fingertips dug into the man’s thick, black hair and began to thrust.

Edward swallowed it all.

“Jesus,” moaned Francis, sinking back into the cushions spinelessly.

“Was it okay, Sir?” asked the slender, handsome brunet, seemingly unaware of the splash of white decorating the corner of his mouth.

“Perfection!” answered Francis, lovingly soothing the tiny scratches on Edwards scalp, where his fingernails had bitten too deeply during his climax. Catching his breath, Francis thought for a minute before delivering an order.

“Kneel, right here,” he said, patting the center cushion of the couch. “Now, lean against the arm, yes. That’s it. Ass in the air.”

“Sir?” asked Edward, blushing as he watched the senior politician pull the sweatpants down past the hips, all the way to Edward’s knees. “Wh…what are you going to do?” he asked, trembling.

Francis framed Edward’s round, muscular buttocks with his warm, wide hands, kneading them first then pushing them gently apart.

“This. Just this,” he answered, gliding his tongue over the younger man’s freshly showered asshole.

“Ahhh!” cried Edward, desperately trying to reduce his volume by pressing his mouth against his forearm.

“Do you want me to stop?” Francis asked.

“Don’t you dare, Sir,” was the muffled answer.

It had been years since the last time Francis had indulged in such an activity with a member of his sex. Too long, he thought, greedily pressing his mouth against Edward’s most sensitive parts, worming the tip of his tongue just inside the ring as the younger man arched his back, pressing against him and shuddering.

Francis braced his left hand against the small of Edward’s back and snaked his right between the Agent’s thighs, wrapping his fingers around the younger man’s slickly dripping erection. He began stroking Edward, synchronizing his hand with his tongue so that it was only a minute or two before orgasm was achieved, Edward shooting his load onto a convenient throw pillow.

“Never liked that one anyway,” laughed Francis, tossing the soiled pillow into a nearby wastepaper basket.


	10. Chapter 10

Francis stared at Edward, memorizing the slack, relaxed lines of the younger man’s face, so different from the protector’s constant alert, stressed expression. He liked the way Edward looked he decided, acknowledging the urge, deep inside, to care for and protect their new lover. The phone rang.

“Claire!” Francis answered, rousing Edward from his post-coital daze. “I’m glad you called. Guess who’s right here beside me?” A pause, then Francis laughed. “Well, you are brilliant, aren’t you? I’m not sure he can talk right now. He’s lying here in an altered mental state of some sort.” Francis listened, eyes sparkling, and he laughed again. “What Doug didn’t like,” he answered, stroking Edward’s unclothed ass. “But our Edward found it pleasurable, to say the least. (pause) What’s that? No, not that. Edward’s got some history regarding that sort of thing, something we’ll need to discuss.”

His face grew suddenly grim as he listened. “You _are_ brilliant,” he drawled, smoothing his hand along the small of the younger man’s back, which was stiff now, as Edward listened. “You’ve hit the nail on the head,” continued Francis. “But together, we’ll see him better….All right. Goodnight.”

Edward twisted around. “She guessed?” Francis nodded. “She’s sharp, our Claire. I think she suspected something like that, all along.”

With a low whimper, Edward covered his eyes. “I didn’t want her to know. What if she thinks I’m less of a man?”

Francis couldn’t stop his hand from smacking Edward’s ass but he managed to keep it light, barely stinging though it sounded almost like a muffled gunshot. “Don’t you dare think that, Edward Meechum!” he growled. “What happened to you just means there are monsters in this world. Monsters disguised as men. It is nothing against your manhood. It was just a…a case of bad luck, is all.”

“Do you think?”

“I know so. Besides, do you think Claire is any less of a woman for being raped?”

Edward gulped. “No, Sir. In my mind, it just means she’s stronger. A survivor.”

“Well, there you go…” answered Francis, bending down to kiss away the dark pink handprint now decorating Edward’s left buttock.

*

“I’m back,” said Claire, placing her overnight bag on the bed as she stepped out of her Louboutins. She leaned to kiss Francis, who was sitting, criss-cross, on the bed, surrounded by a handful of folders.

“Hello, Dear,” sighed the United States’ Second in Command, reaching to take her hand, which he placed on his heart as she curled next to him, her head against his shoulder. She glanced at the back of the file in his hand and read the tag: **Meechum, Edward J.**

“That bad?” she asked, frowning with concern.

“Even worse,” replied Francis, dropping the file to embrace his wife. “You guessed the part that he was raped. By a Marine,” he added, hugging her more tightly as she gasped.

“No?!”

“His commanding officer in Iraq. After the man raped Edward’s boyfriend, another Marine. Edward set out to kill the bastard but a road mine intervened, saving him the trouble but nearly killing him, too. He was sent home and patched up, good as new with a handful of medals.”

“Oh, my,” she said, cringing but more than anything proud of Edward’s resilience. Francis sat up, moving Claire to pick up another file, from which he pulled the picture of a nine year old boy, dark hair and eyes but pale and far too thin.

“Edward, courtesy of Tennessee’s Division of Child Services.” Together, they stared at the black and white photo, Francis’s hand trembling as Claire gently traced the black eye, the half-healed cut along his nose and bruised, swollen lips.

“What….what happened?”

“His mother and father broke up because they were both drinking, then using…prescription medication at first, as if that makes things any better,” he said bitterly, recalling elements of his own childhood.

“She took up with a dealer when he was eight and a year later he had a sister, Amy. She was a frail, sickly little thing, coming into the world strung-out, herself. Neighbors report that the mother began taking off for hours, then days starting a few months after Amy was born, leaving Edward to take care of his sister. Did a damned good job of it, too, for a nine year old – buying diapers and formula using food stamps and change he’d steal from her purse. But when school started again, she made him go. It would attract too much attention from officials if he didn’t. She said she’d stay home or pay the old lady down the hall to watch the baby.”

“But that didn’t work, did it?”

Growling, Francis shook his head. “It did not. He and Amy got sick, just a cold at first but it got worse. He begged to stay home; the heat bill hadn’t been paid and the apartment was cold, too cold for a baby. But his mother made him go to school and when he came home that afternoon, the place was empty except for Amy, who was blue and scarcely moving. He wrapped her in a blanket and started for the hospital, two miles away.” He stopped, wiping his eyes with the bottom of his palm. “She was dead when he got there. It took four nurses and two security guards to subdue him so that they could take her from him. They knocked him out and admitted him; turned out they both had pneumonia. He never saw his sister again.”

“Jesus.”

“There’s more. His paternal grandfather took custody of him after his mother was jailed for neglect and manslaughter and his father was found unfit. The old man was a Marine, retired. He must have been everything to Edward because when the old man got cancer, Edward passed up a chance to enter West Point, losing the girl he’d asked to marry him. Apparently she wanted to marry someone important, not a guy skipping college to take care of his grandfather. He lingered for two years and when he died, Edward joined the Marines in his honor.”

“Where he served honorably until he was raped…” 

"Claire, there’s one more thing. Edward’s guessed about Peter and Zoe. He has no evidence. He hasn’t tried to find any – he just wanted me to know because he says he’ll help…if there’s a next time we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. He means to spare us, if he’s asked.”

Frowning, she thought, tapping her fingers against her husband’s sternum nervously. Finally, she spoke. “I trust him, Francis. With both of our lives, whether we’re threatened with bullets or worse. We’ll take care of him. He’s ours now.”

Francis kissed her. “Edward is family now. Come Hell or highwater,” he swore, rapping his knuckles twice against the bedboard.

 


End file.
